Ode to Frost
The frost which falls before the dawn
To settle in a sheet of white
Whilst painted leaves and flowers are born
Of sheer delight
Exquisite patterns formed of ice
Festoons of fractal filigree
Too fine for mankind’s crude device
Or artistry
The delicate white flower or fern
Which grows upon the silver pond
Cannot be picked! For it will burn
And melt the frond
The sun arises from the mist
With its thin warmth, from winter bed
The magic growths are now dismissed
And all are fled
